


the end times

by weatheredlaw



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8638810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: Percy and Grog get lost in an unknown forest, under unknown circumstances. It doesn't seem like the time for a heart-to-heart, but, stranger things have happened.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for the critical role big bang! (@critrolebang on tumblr). you can find the accompanying post [here](http://weatheredlaw.tumblr.com/post/153588901954/the-end-times-by-weatheredlaw-art-by-maileme), on my tumblr, that includes the beautiful art done by @maileme! thank you so much for your wonderful and inspiring art. 
> 
> this takes place some time before vorugal, during a brief rest at whitestone, as well as before episode 69, and after all the craven edge shenanigans.

_you and me and the war of the end times_

 

* * *

 

It is certainly never unusual for Percy to find himself roused from any sort of slumber by Grog’s voice. His goliath friend is never without something to be angry at or excited _about_. It is also never unusual to find himself having slept all night on the ground, staring up at the stars until he’s drifted off, and waking to the warmth of sunlight streaming through trees on his face.

But to wake like that _today_ , in this particular moment – that is unusual.

Of course, a great many unusual things have happened to Percy in his life, so he tries not to get too worked up over it.

Instead: “Grog, would you please give your voice a rest? For just a moment?”

“Pike’s not here,” are his first words, and Percy hears the urgency in them. He nods, hefting himself up and looking around. “Me and Pike fell asleep in my room at the castle, and now she’s not here.” Grog turns and begins shouting the cleric’s name again, looking through bushes and shaking low-lying tree limbs. “ _Pike!_ ”

“I think it’s safe to say,” Percy says, “that if you’ve been at that a while, and she hasn’t shown, then we are alone here. Though where exactly _here_ is I’m not sure.”

“The woods,” Grog says, a little snippier than usual. “We’re in the fucking woods, Percy.”

“Yes, I _know_ that.” He kicks at the dirt under his shoe. “But _where?_ And why?”

“Is it real?”

Percy raises a brow. “That’s a very good question, Grog.”

“I can ask good questions.”

“Oh, I know that.” He puts a hand on a tree trunk and nods. “It seems real. But, of course, we could both be having an identically elaborate dream. Or just one of us could be. Either way—” He checks for his things, finds Bad News and Retort exactly where he left them, and smiles. “We should start walking. We won’t find any answers here.”

“Or any _one_ ,” Grog mutters, clearly put out by all of this.

“Yes,” Percy agrees. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

They walk in silence. Percy and Grog’s past encounters have not always been the best, and they have not always been the most _inspiring_ , but they have only ever actively tried to hurt each other once, and neither has ever seen fit to bring that up.

After a while, Grog sniffs. Says: “Do you ever have, like, weird dreams about dark shit?”

Percy looks over. “Sometimes. Do you?”

Grog shrugs. The silence returns. Percy thinks of Craven Edge, and he thinks of Orthax. He hadn’t thought on it much, during their last few days in Emon, with the terrible skull and the terrible fight. He hadn’t thought about how strange it was that he and Grog now shared such a rich, awful connection. Darkness came in all colors, sizes, and with all sorts of intents and purposes. That he, Percival, could be touched by it in one way, and Grog another – and both become the exact people they are in this moment – it’s near _astounding._

“I dream about killing Pike,” Grog suddenly says. His feet still. “You know I’ve wanted to tell you this? For a long time.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“…Kept forgetting,” he admits, sheepishly.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Percy says. He doesn’t reach out to physically reassure – that sort of gesture is for Keyleth or Vax. Occasionally Vex, if the moment is right and he isn’t on the verge of screwing it up. But his words seem to be enough, and Grog starts moving again. “What happened with the sphinx…”

“You don’t see it? Every time you close your eyes? Like, all the bad stuff you did, when you had that shitty thing in your head?”

Percy nods. “I do. Most nights,” he adds. “But…I’m working on letting things go.” Grog _laughs_ , an almost full-bellied, rich thing, and Percy sighs. “Do you not believe me?”

“Nah,” Grog says, and gives Percy and _thump_ across his back that sends him reeling forward a dozen feet. “We can’t be stuck here,” Grog adds. “There’s dragons to fight.”

“Yes,” Percy wheezes, catching his breath. “Yes I know. But we _are_ here.” He looks up. “These trees seem perfectly normal. I wonder if the others have been dropped somewhere. I hope they’re as safe as we seem to—”

An arrow whizzes past.

Percy sighs. “Someday, and someday _soon_ , I’m going to learn to just _shut up._ ” He turns, taking a few steps back, and draws Bad News. “Bandits!” he shouts.

“I fuckin’ noticed!” Grog’s hammer lights up, and he takes a swing at one of the closer ones, sending him flying.

Behind him, Percy spots a few archers crouched in the bushes. He takes careful aim, feeling a few more arrows rush past, and fires. One falls back, dead. The other two stumble frightened from the bushes, and look at Percy holding the gun in his hand, frozen in place.

This, more than anything else, aggravates him to his core.

“Well don’t just _stand_ there!” he shouts. “If you’re going to ambush us at least make it a proper fight!”

Ahead, Grog roars in a delightful rage and sends two more bandits sailing across the thicket. The archers take a look at their beaten companions and turn on their heels.

“Oh no you don’t!” Percy takes aim again. One shot, one archer. Another shot, another archer. They go down not twenty feet from where they fled. One last bandit remains. Percy shoulders Bad News, holding up his hand for Grog to freeze. “We need him to answer some questions.”

“Or we could just kill him,” Grog argues, breathing heavy.

“That _does_ sound fun.” Percy looks at the man. “Where is this place? Is this another plane? Another country?”

The man opens his mouth to speak, but nothing discernable can be heard. He speech almost sounds as if it’s been spoken, then played to them backwards. Percy frowns.

“Do you speak Common?”

The man tries to talk back, but again – nothing but gibberish.

Grog growls. “I’m done,” he says, and brings the hammer down on the man’s head.

Percy looks at the blood spray now on his pants and clucks disapprovingly. “Very messy.”

“This is boring,” Grog says, keeping his hammer at the ready. “Let’s keep walking.”

 

* * *

 

They walk for quite a while, silence overtaking them again. Percy feels like there’s a question, or maybe even a confession, fighting to find its way into the space between them, but Grog seems closed off, perhaps unwilling to share much more after their rather raw discussion earlier in the day. It’s a rare moment, Percy knows, but it had perhaps become too much. And the suddenly missing Pike is most certainly a very real fear for Grog, who misses her near _constantly_ when she’s gone.

But the feeling nags, and Percy finally says, “I never did apologize for giving you that thing. The sword.”

Grog grunts. “Don’t need to.”

“Yes, but it _killed_ you. It nearly killed Pike.”

“I nearly killed Pike,” Grog says. “That was me. Sword didn’t throw itself through the portal. I threw it. Just because you knew it talked didn’t mean you knew it was gonna do any of that shit.”

“I had…a strange feeling about it.”

“You have a stupid feeling about everything,” Grog says. “‘Sides. Shit’s in the past. Don’t know why you’re worried about feeling sorry for that when we’ve got dragons to take care of. We can feel bad about shit after we save the fuckin’ world.”

Percy nods. “That’s a good point.”

“Plus, you shouldn’t have to feel bad about all the evil shit that happens, right? I mean, we found the sword. _You_ couldn’t use it. And it did a lot of cool shit. It did what it was supposed to do.”

“Yes, I suppose it did.”

Grog gives him a rough shove. “Stop feeling guilty. It’s stupid.”

“Right.” Percy straightens his coat, rubbing his arm. “Quite stupid.”

 

* * *

 

After a while, the sun begins to set. They find themselves at a lake, a stretch of woods at their backs. Grog puts his hands behind his head. “Seems like a good place to stop.”

“Agreed.”

“It’s weird,” Grog says. “Haven’t been hungry.”

“Perhaps this is just a bizarre, extended co-dream.”

“A what?”

“Just a dream,” Percy amends. Grog nods. “I have a sneaking suspicion we might be exactly where we were when we wake up.”

“Back in the woods?”

“Oh, no. Back in our beds.”

Grog sighs. “Be nice.”

“Yes, it would.”

They make a fire, and Grog pulls out some fancy wine from the bag of holding. “Might be a dream,” he says, “but I’m still drinking.”

“Hear, hear.” They tap the necks of the bottle together and drink deeply. After a while, Grog says: “Maybe me and you were supposed to have a dream together. So we could…talk about shit.”

“You hate talking about shit,” Percy says.

“Right, but I guess maybe I _needed_ to talk about shit. Like…like you get it. When you’ve got someone else’s voice in your head, and you know that no one else can hear it. And you want to do what it says because it’s not, like, _hurtin’_ anyone. But then it does.” He looks at his hands. “And now it’s not so great anymore. And now you don’t want it. But you _do_ want it. Like…it’s confusing, you know?”

“I know _very_ well,” Percy murmurs. “And I also know that _you_ shouldn’t feel guilty, any more than I. Pike’s forgiven you.”

“Pike _always_ forgives me.”

“Then that’s all you need.” Percy takes a healthy swig. “I’m not saying that it goes away, you know. I’ll never promise you that. But it gets easier. And things…things come up. Things that help you figure out that you _do_ want to keep going.” He clears his throat. “People, sometimes. Purposes.”

“Like dragons.”

“Yes.” Percy looks up at the stars, just as one seems to wink. “Like dragons.”

 

* * *

 

When he wakes next, he is tucked under soft sheets, eyes opening to the stone walls of home. He had forgotten, in his extended absence, how _good_ it felt to even _be_ home. He’s certain he’s been taking advantage of it. The sunlight streams through the heavy curtains covering the window, and Percy rolls out of bed, pulling them back and looking out over the gardens behind the castle. They’re a _disaster_ , but he sees tale-tell signs of Keyleth’s handiwork, and he knows that his sister is in the process of hiring a restorative garden staff.

 _Roses in a time of dragons,_ he thinks, and smiles.

He dresses, reaching for his door just as a loud knock sounds on the wood.

It is who he thought it might be, and Percy welcomes Grog inside.

“Should we call it a dream?”

“We can call it whatever we’d like,” Percy muses.

“Let’s call it nothin’,” Grog says. “And never talk about it again.”

“Fair enough.” Percy reaches out and they shake on it. “I did enjoy myself though,” he adds. “I don’t think you and I spend enough time together.

“Probably for a good reason,” Grog mutters, but there’s a shadow of a smile there, and Percy laughs. “Right. I’m gonna go eat.”

“Was Pike there when you woke?”

Grog’s face seems to break out with relief, and he smiles. “Yeah, she was.”

“That’s good. That’s very good.”

“We shouldn’t leave her next time. For the white dragon. We should take her with us.”

“We’ll do our best,” Percy says. “Those holy women. One of my sisters was quite devoted. My elder one, Vesper. She wanted to be a cleric.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Pike…sometimes reminds me of her, at certain moments. Vesper was quite devoted to Pelor’s temple. I think she’d be proud to see someone working to bring faith back to this city.”

“Right.” Grog shifts uncomfortably on this feet. Once again, Percy’s gone and said a bit too much. There’s likely a lesson to be learned from all of this, but he isn’t sure where or how.

“Go eat breakfast, Grog. I’ll join everyone soon.”

Grog smiles. “Sure thing.” He gives Percy a heart clap on the shoulder, jolting him to the side before running out.

And Percy stands there, nursing his shoulder, certain he can feel it over the bruise he was given in…whatever reality he and his goliath friend found themselves tucked into, just for a day. A dream or not, it was real and they remember it – so it _matters._ That’s what one _must_ have, for something to matter. A memory, an intent. Percy sighs, adjusting his jacket and heading out and down the hall.

Whatever the reason for it, he knows it was _good_ – Grog gives him a goofy, rather knowing grin as he seats himself to the left of his sister at the breakfast table.

“Did you rest well, brother?” Cassandra spoons more sugar than one might consider proper into her tea, as she always has.

Percy smiles. “Better than I have in ages, my dear,” and rests his hand over hers. 


End file.
